Getting Even
by Sis Spiffy
Summary: It's impossible to do alone. It's even harder with an army. In the end, there will be no winner, just a lot of loss. A closer look at the Stormcloak and Imperial war.


No spoilers in this one! But I own nothing anyway!

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His heart thudded violently in his chest. The sharp tang of blood still hung in the air, tainting the starless night with death. Heavy clouds shielded the moon and masked the winding path. The smell of blood followed him and he discarded his tunic, leaving the reddened garment behind. Stumbling back to the road, he closed his eyes and began the journey he had taken many times before.

He reeked of adrenaline and blood. Another useless slaughter. As his heart slowed, more and more disgust flooded into his body. He fought and bled for the Stormcloak cause, but he was battle weary.

When would the fighting end? Stormcloaks and Imperials bled the same, died the same, loved the same.

The man shook his head at his thoughts. Victory or Sovngarde. Right. Right?

How much of a dream was peace? Both sides were set in their own ways, willing to bleed and die for it. And die they did.

Whole lives were uprooted because of this war. Parents made childless, wives made widows, children made orphans and so on. It was a vicious cycle. Children, bitter that their parents were taken too young, join in revenge. The choking possibility of death hangs over their heads, but they care not. And in the mix, they die and leave their children behind to repeat.

Revenge was a powerful emotion. More powerful than love. More powerful than pride. It affected all men, dead and alive. No one could run from the crushing, red revenge. These men would fight for their father's belief and not worry about their own. All that matters is getting even.

The man hung his head and kept walking. His sword suddenly felt too heavy., like all the hands of the slain Imperials were dragging it down with them. Down to where, he didn't know. Unbuckling the belt, he threw the sword to the ground and winced as the steel broke the quiet evening.

He felt dirty. Cruel. Impure. Unhuman.

Unhuman. A thousand voices in his head chanted. Unhuman. Who gave you the right to take lives away?

Unhuman.

The Stormcloak fell to his knees and held his head.

Unhuman.

Crawling back to the sword he picked up the heavy metal. Black in the starless night, the blade was dull.

Unhuman.

Quickly, the man brought the sword against his bare chest. Cold. The blade paved a line down his body, marring the dirty flesh.

Unhuman.

Yet he bled like one.

Leaving the sword behind, he stood. Warmth spread over his torso and he smiled. The cold breeze tickled against his face once he pulled his helmet off. His long hair flowed in the air. He would prefer it short, but the Nords wore their hair long, so he would too.

It was frigid, but that was normal for Skyrim. The ever oppressing chill of the cold Nordic hearts burned in the cutting night. The air swaddled the Nord's chest. Cold clashed with warm, but the cold always won. The crimson on his chest was quickly cooling. He was no longer hot with adrenaline and his fingers began the slow climb from his stomach to his wound. Cold. Yet strangely hot. Like an unbridled passion lay just beneath his skin. He knew not how to release it. How could he, and expendable solider change anything? He had not yet earned a name for himself, but the thought of killing another man made him nauseous. He had bloodied his sword enough.

With an unbreakable stride, he manage to kick off his boots and remove his gauntlets. He was left in simple linen pants and broke into a run. The new freedom of being without armor spiked a new fire in his soul. He felt liberated from the war, like he was just a man. Not a Stormcloak. Not a soldier. The cold air kissed his exposed body and cleansed his bloodied hands.

He ran.

The oppressing night gave no hint of the approaching day. The world was grieving with him.

The muscles in his legs burned. The pounding of his feet on the path echoed his heart beat. Pain shot through his bare feet and they screamed in protest, but he ran on, trailing blood and tears behind him. The pounding in his chest was fast, heavy and cold.

The shrouded night casted shallow shadows on the world. Masked mountains bled ribbons of green in the distance.

His ragged breath cut through the silence , nicking and tearing the soft night like a dull knife.

"Talos, help me."

No reply.

He needed to be closer. So he turned on to the right path.

Seven thousand steps wouldn't stop him now. Stormy eyes fell on his cracked and bloody feet. Red footprints trailed in the snow behind him. The cool kisses turned to sharp bites and the Nord suppressed a shiver. His heart beat timidly in his throat when the wind picked up, but he pressed on. Doubt threatened to overtake the burdened Stormcloak during his upwards trek. Would they turn him away? What kind of priests wanted a killer? A murderer? Some one as unhuman as him?

The smooth doors to the sanctuary were heavy. He leaned his body against the wood to make it budge. The warmth of the fire was graciously welcomed. The gentle heat of the temple wrapped around him like a blanket. He took a moment to soak in the balmy air before looking around.

Around him the priests watched his movement. Their gazes empty, free of harshness and free of happiness. Just empty.

But then he felt it. The shaming. The scorn. The judgment. They looked down on him, he knew it. They must have thought that he was unhuman.

The Stormcloak was suddenly aware of his bare chest and feet. Of the blood coating them. Of his messy hair. Of his shaking hands. Of everything. His appearance was unhuman. He was unhuman. How could he be so foolish? What did he think he was doing here? He was nothing, and nothing comes from nothing.

He had turned back to the door when one of the priests stepped forward and placed a warm hand on the soldier's shoulder. The friendly hand sent happiness to the Stormcloak's core. The old man's eyes were kind and peaceful and he smiled beneath his gray beard.

"Welcome, brother."

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Oh my. I'm well aware that this isn't my best. Life has just gotten in the way recently and I needed to write _something _to get over my writer's block! But, now that school is out, I'll be writing more! Feel free to send me a request if you'd like to see something written (if you don't mind me taking my time!)!

Bless your face, and have a nice day! :)


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